Honeyed Pasture the world is already on my side

Szymon nodded cordially as the older wolf sequestered a haunch of the fresh meat and distanced himself from the kill; licking the blood from his muzzle, the Cairn boy ripped off a chunk of meat from the carcass at random and settled some feet away. It was easier to talk while his paws were busy and his body drained of tension in the aftermath of a successful hunt — and although it was not normally Szymon’s way to eat in the presence of others, he was learning to adapt to these wilds and perhaps to thrive in them. What was his business? How much could he entrust this stranger with? Swallowing a mouthful of the warm-blooded flesh, Szymon considered his options. The umber-eyed wolf had not mocked his stutter before, and he felt vaguely comforted by that. “Th-Th-Thank y-y-y-you,” he replied, for without the other wolf’s help, hunting would have truly been a pain in the ass. Or maybe the face or the flank, depending on which kicks might have landed.

My business, Szymon thought to himself, tearing off another strip of meat and chewing it to buy time before answering. “P-P-P — ” he started, revving his verbal engine, “p-passing through.” It was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Dragging air slowly into his lungs betwixt clenched teeth as he forcibly willed his muscles to relax, he paused before continuing: “M-My b-b-b-bro — th-ther,” he stammered, chopping his sentence up into vital pieces to make it more manageable, jerking his muzzle in the direction of the coast as a general indicator of where the mysterious brother dwelled, “s-s-searching f-f-for other f-f-family.” It was all true, but Grayday didn’t need to know that the current family goals included fratricide and building an empire.